


Day Four: On a Date

by quartermasterandhisagent



Series: 30 Day OTP Challenge [4]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Mission Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-19 01:34:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2369561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartermasterandhisagent/pseuds/quartermasterandhisagent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>30 Day OTP Challenge </p><p>Q gives James Bond a garrotte hidden in a pair of headphones.<br/>Bond insists on a proper thank you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually a three part fic, partly to make up for the fact it's been so long since I worked on this, and partly because the story itself is just so long

“I thought you didn't ‘really go in for that anymore,’” Bond says as Q slides his kit over to him. The kit contains his Walther PPK, and his radio of course, which have become standard even on missions that don’t require live support, along with a specialized lock picking kit that gives the appearance of a mechanical failure. James is being sent to monitor a high-risk target for two weeks, and Bond needs to be in close proximity at all times without alerting the highly paranoid hacker to his presence. 

“Yes, well I can be convinced when the mission calls for it. You may be fine with close calls and being nearly run-down by trigger-happy idiots, but I would prefer it if our escapes were cleaner than your usual fanfare, double-oh seven.” Q returns dryly. Bond still isn't happy with M’s insistence on Q being in the field, but the mission may require support that Q simply cannot talk Bond through, no matter how competent Bond is with computers.

“In other words, when your arse is on the line,” Bond says, raising one eyebrow at his quartermaster. It has been several weeks since the pair were banished from HQ, and Bond has been sent on a few low-profile, frankly dull missions that have required minimal support. He is anxious to return to action, even if it is a jaunt over to Paris for a few weeks. He has been told to expect something more than reconnaissance, but for Q’s sake he hopes it will happen away from the hotel they will be staying at.

Their cover is a conference being held on IT security for program developers, and none of the double-ohs fit the type, so double-oh seven is going as Q’s very bored partner who thought this a holiday. They both suspect Moneypenny’s hand in the arrangement. It also helps that this is precisely Q’s cover story for being quartermaster in general. His near compromise a few months ago was just barely thwarted by 006, who accidentally shot both of his kidnappers in the head. Q is very thankful of that, and 006 received a new gun just because. Bond for his part regrets not being the one to kill even one of them.

They stop off at James’ flat first, his go-bag insufficient for a two week mission, and if James was being honest he wasn't sure which shirt was covered in his last mark’s blood. He hasn't checked. They walk through a mostly empty lobby, and take the elevator to the top floor where Bond lets them into a posh but hollow flat. 

Q knows that Bond has lived here since he came back from the dead, but he can see the evidence that Bond hasn't bothered to unpack. There is a single coffee mug in the sink, and he has left the tin of coffee on the counter but Q can see the wrapping around the coffee table legs, and the delivery wrapping from the couch wedged between the wall and the couch itself. 

Bond flinches when he sees that Q has noticed. He honestly meant to get rid of that, and not just for appearance’s sake either. Bond has always kept his living quarters tidy, even before his time spent in the navy. Still he finds himself turning half-way between the hall and his bedroom and says to Q, “I haven’t had much occasion to tidy up. Nobody has been here since I returned from Turkey, except Alec who just kips on the couch.” 

“I’m surprised he even bothers with the couch. You’re at my flat often enough, double-oh seven.” Q sets his coat on the back of the couch, and sits down, already retrieving his tablet. The comment catches James off guard, because he supposes its true. He’s found he gravitates towards the quartermaster after missions instead of heading out to drink until he can’t see straight, and finding someone willing to spend the night with him. It isn’t that he is incapable of this anymore, he just finds himself increasingly uninterested. By the time James can think of a reply, Q is already absorbed in his work. 

Bond quickly gathers his things, remembering to grab the suits off the back of the door.  
He’d purchased two new suits recently, and had Alec pick them up from the tailor’s while he was away on his last mission. If Alec noticed that the second suit, a charcoal grey much darker than Bond’s usual choice, wasn’t at all his size he’d said nothing of the sort. He’d picked it out on a whim while replacing one of his favourites that had been absolutely destroyed by a fire in Spain a few weeks earlier. He almost backed out of the purchase, thinking it ridiculous to purchase a suit as a thank-you present was a little excessive, even for him, but apparently his tailor had only been concerned about the colour. When James informed him it was a gift for a friend, Andre was happy to make note of the new measurements. 

A soft knock at his door pulls James from his thoughts. Glancing at his watch he is surprised at how much time had passed. He’d only meant to be a minute… “James? We should be going soon if we’re to make our check in time for the conference and establish communication with HQ.” Q’s voice is quiet through the door, much quieter than James is used to hearing in Q Branch, almost as if he doesn’t want to interrupt.

Bond quickly pulls at the door handle, picking up his suitcase as he goes. Q is startled, clearly not expecting James to be right there. He takes a step back, seemingly nervous about being in close proximity to Bond. James smirks at the thought. “Of course, Q. We’ll take the Aston, much better than flying I hear.” At that, Q glares at him before stalking away. Up ahead, James can hear Q chuckling quietly to himself, so he’s not too cross with him. Yet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q and Bond arrive in Paris, Eve meddles and Tanner doesn't stop her

Q is impatient and restless by the time James pulls out front their hotel. Bond can tell by the way he goes over the briefing no less than six times as they weave their way through the early evening traffic, and checks all of his equipment in the bag he had refused to leave in the boot. It isn’t as if they would get in a shoot-out in the middle of Paris before they had chance to check in, unless they were compromised. But Q had created and backstopped their covers himself, so the chances of that were slim to none. 

The hotel itself wouldn’t make James’ top five choices in Paris — especially from a tactical perspective—but the conference had required its guests to stay in the same hotel it was being hosted at. It at least provided them with the opportunity to observe their mark up close while still being unobtrusive, and Q had somehow managed to book their room directly above Romona and her entourage. Not coincidental, James is sure of that, but it provides a number of otherwise implausible opportunities. Still, getting past her four security personnel (which seemed excessive, diplomats frequently had less) would be difficult. 

“Now, half of these will be honest to god programme developers. They’ll be relatively easy to spot—nervous or entirely too enthusiastic and eager to network. That’s not to say that there aren’t quite programme developers or vice versa, but the lone wolf stereotype does exist for a reason. We like to keep to ourselves mostly, it’s just easier.” Q says after they’ve passed through the lobby and reached their room. 

Q is busying himself with pulling out an elaborate set-up, so he misses the way James blanches at the casual use of the royal ‘we’. It has been eighteen months since James had returned from Turkey, fifteen since Bond returned to full active duty after Skyfall and properly passed his evals, and never once had he stopped to question Q’s loyalty, even during the literal train-wreck that was Skyfall when Q had been quartermaster for a matter of weeks, and Bond had known him for mere days before having to rely on him. In all that time, he’d never stopped to consider Q’s history or motivations. “We?” he asks, aiming for unaffected but comes off a touch cold, harsh even to his own ears.

Q for his part, smirks at him, twisting round to face James while he fiddles with wires needed to connect monitors, or maybe his keyboard--Bond isn’t sure he’s ever seen a set up quite like Q’s before. “Did you really think M would pick Boothroyd’s replacement from a generic application? Honestly can you even picture me sitting through sixteen pages of forms? HR could barely get my pay stub information out of me, and don’t get me started about Moneypenny and Tanner’s nagging about post-mission write ups,” This startles a laugh out of James, and a knot loosens in his shoulder. Away from the office, Q is a little less stiff, a little more real. He figures that much of the persona Q adopts comes from his responsibility of quartermaster, coupled with his age — Bond knows about that all too well. People, especially at HQ, rarely stop to consider the person beneath the double-oh status. It’s comforting somehow that even now, James knows he’s not the only one. 

“Right then, it’s after six on a Friday night. Jensen and Andrews should have things set up at HQ for Moneypenny and Tanner by now,” Q says, and just like that he’s all business again. Pity. James idly wonders what version of Q he will see on this mission, the man he’s supposed to be married to — as if that doesn’t bring up Montenegro and Venice all over again— and he’s sure that Q will tell him nothing, leaving him to play by ear. 

There’s a sharp rap at the door, just as Moneypenny comes online. “Hello lovebirds, I’ve brought you a gift,” she says, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. Behind her, Tanner coughs, none too subtly. Bond goes to answer the door, finding a member of the hotel staff with two trollies waiting, one of which is dedicated exclusively to Bond’s favourite champagne. He isn’t surprised that Moneypenny knows this, she wouldn’t be good at her job otherwise — PA position be damned, like anyone at MI6 actually believes that.

“For you, sir.” the man says, seemingly bored. Probably not the mark sending one of her goons to investigate then.

Bond smiles at him, a touch feral, and laughs a bit when the man visibly takes an involuntary step back. “I’m afraid my partner is indisposed at the moment, if you don’t mind I’ll take them myself,” he says already reaching for his wallet.

“Of course, sir. There’s also this, it was left at the front desk for you,” the man reaches into his waist coat to retrieve a cream coloured envelope, “Your brother and sister-in-law were very insistent that it be delivered with your meal.” He hands the card over with a shrug, seemingly not phased with this additional delivery. 

Bond takes the card, setting it aside on the end table while the man pushes the second trolley forward for Bond. He doesn’t suspect the man is anything but an employee given his somewhat nervous demeanour, but enough time in the service means that he never turns his back completely. 

The man leaves after that, and almost immediately Q picks up the conversation from where it had left off. “Brother and sister-in-law?” he asks, arching a single brow. 

“We need to send our well wishes, dinner was the most convenient method,” she replies easily, faux innocence on full display.

“I suggested we just phone you but we couldn’t reach you before you got to the hotel,” Bill pipes up from behind her. He’s got a stack of paperwork beside him, but a Heineken in hand. James doubts he’ll make much of a dent in it if Mallory has loosened up enough to look the other way. It didn’t happen often, but sometimes when working well into the night and there’s a lull in activity or after a particularly rough mission drinks and food were permitted outside of official reception spaces. 

“I think your rather enjoying this,” Bond tells Eve, walking back over to the table to fetch the card that James can tell Eve purchased from the paper shop around the corner. Inside he finds a note in Eve’s careful script: If you pulled your head out of your arse, you’d be together sooner. Be safe and enjoy your time. Love, E.” Bond is still examining the card for something useful, and misses the way Q startles at this, blush creeping up his face.

“Charming, don’t you think?” She asks not looking directly at the camera any longer, rather at something on screen just out of view

“The point to all of this?” Q asks, irritation seeping through his normally blasé tone.

“Lemon juice,” she replies and Tanner rolls his eyes.

“I tried talking it out of her, I really did,” he insists, but even he can’t hide his laugh.

Sighing, Bond flips on the switch to the lamp and holds it up to the lightbulb as close as he can get. After few minutes, a single sentence appears between Moneypenny’s visible message: Evidence to suggest that she has developed a bugging system for mobile phones and tablets that is impervious to all current countermeasures — new tech en route. He doesn’t read it out loud, but rather hands it off to Q who scans over the message quickly before laughing. Bond freezes. “Thank you love, I’ll be sure to send some souvenirs for the children,” he says almost gleeful as he signs off. Bond just sighs as he watches Q begin tearing down and repacking the elaborate set up. 

He supposes it’s supposed to be encouraging that they have yet to be compromised in a building full of hackers, a number of whom would probably love to get their hands on Q’s computer, but it will be at least three days until they can make the swap out for new tech. Until then, they’re blind. The feeling sits uneasily in his stomach.


	3. Chapter 3

The first weekend of the conference is a variety of luncheons and mixers, which Q pointedly skips. He can hack into the camera security feeds just fine from the tablet he purchased from a nearby shop their first night, thank you very much. For as much as Bond has relied on Q these past few months, he still sometimes prefers to gather intel the old fashioned way by casing the place. Q will spend the majority of the time attending guest lectures and seminars, and he doesn’t trust the rest of Q branch the way he trusts Q, especially with the potential bugging system so they will have to opt for a close-range private comms network and no mobile support.  
He spends a number of hours wandering the building throughout the weekend at different intervals, checking camera blindspots for Q and mapping out potential escape routes for when the opportunity presents itself. Mallory’s orders are to seize the drive and eliminate the target, but not to do either prematurely particularly if there’s a chance Ramona may escape. A number of agencies have been tracking the hacker for months now, aware of her existence and precisely what she is taking but that’s as far as anyone had been able to follow through until last week when Q had been on the DarkNet trying to locate a rogue weapons expert hiring himself out. That’s how he’d found out Ramona was planning to use the conference as a cover for a drop exchange for one of her high level contacts. Q was confident that her contact would be attending the conference and that he could identify the man before she had chance to initiate contact.

  
So far Bond hadn’t been able to point to anyone that stood out. He woke early in the morning, using a run as an excuse for observation before joining Q for an early lunch in the conference room. Q undercover was something of an enigma. Bond had been preparing himself for a number of possibilities, but this he hadn’t expected. He hadn’t expected Q to be so charming if he was being perfectly honest. Q had been his main support on nearly all of his mission since his return to the service, and between his evenings spent at Q’s (most of which he barely remembered the next morning) and his frequent trips down to Q Branch on increasingly flimsier excuses, he had never seen Q quite like this before. He was polite, friendly to anyone approaching him asking him questions about what he did (freelance programmer) for how long (since early in his undergrad) and what excited him the most about the field (assistive technology and it’s growing variety of uses) but somehow still distant and closed off in a way that reminded James of the way Q acted when one of his techs had disappointed him for one reason or another. He’d caught the eye of a few people thus far, but none had been brave enough to be so pedestrian as ask for his number.

  
Better still, by the end of the week it became clear to nearly everyone that Q only had eyes for Bond. James knew it was all for show, he had to play the part to maintain their cover, but he found himself enjoying it more than he had expected. Despite his age, and the pattern of scars that he had long given up hope of hiding he was still considered by many to be attractive — he heard it often enough in the halls of MI6 in whispered hushes as he passed by en route to a briefing, or in queue at the coffee shop around the corner from his flat in Chelsea, or not so quietly in the drunken exclamations of women he met in bars both during and after missions. None of that mattered now, as Q eyed him over his third cup of Earl Grey that morning. They had been up till nearly 3am tracking the pattern of Ramona, trying to establish a timeline of her movements and who she frequently came into contact with in order to figure out who she was meeting. To an outside observer, only the pair of bodyguards Ramona kept with her at all times gave any hint that she was anything but an encryption programmer for a German software company, and the combined efforts of HQ, Bond and Q had been hard pressed to find much else.

  
“You’re staring,” James teased lightly, trying to drag Q from whatever puzzle the other man was clearly trying to solve in his head. It wasn’t good for the silence to sit too long whenever they were together like this, it would draw too much attention and speculation, and they couldn’t afford to be distracted by the gossip that was rampant at this conference.

  
“You’re still wearing your headphones from this morning’s run,” Q says distractedly. He only pauses long enough to flick his gaze over to Bond for the briefest of seconds eyebrows raised before returning to stare at the person sitting directly behind James. Bond can feel the man sitting behind him, but doesn’t turn to check, the room too crowded to allow for any real distance.

  
“Well if someone hadn’t slept in again,” James drawls, leaning forward demanding Q’s attention once agin. Almost as if on cue, Q scrambles to cover his yawn with a sip of his now cold tea. “ I wouldn’t have had to bring them.”

  
Q very nearly rolls his eyes at him. “Don’t be ridiculous, you know I don’t run. Besides, I got those for you for a reason.” After a beat he adds almost too quiet to hear, “I’m glad you like them so much.”

  
James laughs a little, “They’re quite useful, love.” This time, Bond doesn’t miss the way Q colours, and he thinks idly about exactly how useful they had been. Of course Q would never give James a simple pair of headphones, even if he really only needed them. Despite the younger man’s protest on their first meeting about not needing anything more than a gun and a radio, he gave Bond practical gadgets on an increasing basis. The headphones that were indeed still snaked around James’ neck, dangling idly, were not only functioning headphones but wrapped in a thin sharp metal so that it functioned as a garrotte.

  
Just then, the man behind Bond abruptly stood up, spilling his coffee on his neighbour to the right of him in his haste to exit through the side door as James tracked Ramona’s entrance from the main corridor that lead out to the lobby of the hotel. Much of the attention was on the woman who was now mopping up coffee from the table, and her husband who was shouting indignantly in the general direction the other man had darted off in. Not many people had even noticed Ramona entering the room, and fewer still noticed her leave only a few minutes later after setting down her clutch to help herself to a pastry but leaving it behind in what Bond knew was a calculated move. He watched as only minutes later, a server came to clear away empty trays, sweeping up the clutch in the process. No one in the room seemed to pay any attention to the server, only now just returning to their own meals.


	4. Chapter 4

It was too easy. This thought sat heavily in Bond’s stomach as he casually took the lift back to the room he shared with Q. The server had panicked when he saw Bond following him through the servants quarters, dropping the unopened clutch and the tray carrying empty serving platters in his attempt to reach the fire exit before James caught up to him. The man spoke rapid-fire German, and it took a half second for James’ brain to catch up. All double-ohs knew several languages, it was a necessity for survival but Bond’s knowledge of German pre-dated his service—his mother was half-German and had frequently spoken it at home and encouraged James to do so. He had barely removed his Walther from the holster before the hotel employee was shaking, begging Bond not to kill him or tell Ramona. He clearly thought Bond was part of Ramona’s entourage, but before Bond could reply, two of Ramona’s armed guards rounded the corner, locking eyes with Bond.

He quickly dropped all three men, and did not pause to listen for panicked screams that should follow multiple gunshots feet from a roomful of hotel guests. He passed through the kitchen, taking a side door out into the main lobby and still no signs of chaos. The total lack of reaction worried him, civilians especially those not involved in any kind of scheme tended to panic when they witnessed the level of carnage that tended to be commonplace in his own line of work. For most people it was just too much to handle, even if they weren’t directly involved.

The thumb drive he had retrieved from the clutch tucked safely in his pocket, he swiped into the shared suite only to find it empty and dark. For a second, he thought Q hadn’t left the lobby or hadn’t reached their room. The balcony door, pulled not quite tight leaving the curtains to flutter in the early morning light caught his attention. Ramona’s room was directly below; it would be the way a double-oh might enter a room if he were pressed for time and didn’t want to be spotted. 

Pressing a finger to his ear, James quickly confirmed his suspicions. Worse, Q wasn’t alone and Ramona and her lackeys were quickly tiring of Q’s story about forgetting which floor he was on when testing a prototype—the lock pick Q had given James to get the pair out of this very situation. “Listen here, I don’t care who you are,” Ramona spat out over the com line, “or who you work for. Your partner has something very important to me, and I suspect with the right motivation he can be convinced to turn it over.” There was a crash then, followed by a scream and several soft thumps in quick succession.

Reacting on an instinct he didn’t fully understand (he was fairly sure it wasn’t strictly duty to protect), Bond found himself sliding over the balcony and dropping to the concrete patio below. Walther already drawn, he nudged open the door as he slid into the room, only to find Q sitting in front of a set up remarkably similar to his own at HQ. 

“Double oh-seven,” Q greeted easily, not pausing from his typing or turning to look at James, “Secure her, will you? I suspect she’ll be rather put out when she comes to.” 

“The others?” James turns briefly to accept the ties his Q had at the ready, only to notice his quartermaster still before hearing the click of the safety of the 9mm currently being pressed against his skull. He hadn’t heard the third man slip in the room, isn’t sure if he had already and James had simply failed to clear the room properly but it had cost them valuable seconds. 

“British secret service, yes? Quite the catch,” the man says, leaning closer to Bond, no doubt to gloat. He can feel the man’s breath, the faint hint of mints left behind by the housekeeping staff not nearly strong enough to cover the cheap wine the man had clearly spent much of the morning drinking. His voice does not shake, confident now that he has them, but even with the increased pressure against his skull James knows better.

With deft, swift moves he clears the line of sight, and is relieved that Q has enough foresight and self-preservation to follow his lead. The man, who he now recognizes as the staff member who had delivered their dinner the first night, struggles against his grip, knocking one of James’ hands free only to stumble. It provides James the opportunity to reach up to retrieve the headphones garrotte still resting around his neck. James does not hesitate. “Quite,” he replies. He sighs and turns to face Q once more. 

James isn’t sure what he’s expecting Q’s reaction to be. He knows the man monitors all of his missions and sends him out into the field with both a com line and a camera more often than strictly necessary but there’s a case to be made for the in person difference. Q for his part, merely raises an eyebrow, returning to the desk before asking “Are you done showing off Bond?” 

“Only if you want me to be, Q” Bond replies easily. He doesn’t miss the way Q’s fingers stutter over the keyboard or the way the other man visibly swallows refusing to comment. He makes sure to clear the room after securing Ramona, knowing she can’t escape custody now, and won’t try with his Walther pressed against her temple on the off chance she comes to. 

Q looks smug, satisfied with their handiwork, as he pulls out his mobile no doubt calling in HQ for the pair. “Eve,” he greets dryly as ever, “everything is secure on our end and ready for transport.” There’s a pause, James not quite catching what Moneypenny says before Q replies much more softly, “Yes, I think so.” He hangs up after that, turning to face Bond much more fully. “DGSE is en route, local authorities are on scene downstairs. It seems the kitchen staff were unhappy with their working conditions.”

Bond laughs, before remembering the garrotte headphones and reaches over to hand them to Q. Q just shakes his head, and James reaches for his spare weapon instead. This, Q accepts, unwilling to take further risks now that their main objective has been accomplished. “Thank you,” James says instead. Q only nods in response colour rising to his cheeks. Within minutes the DGSE arrives on scene, and Bond and Q hand over Ramona and most of the evidence. Bond doesn’t miss the drive Q slips into his blazer pocket, nor does he comment on it.

Once they reach their own suite he watches amusedly as Q collapses on the bed they’d shared for the past several days. “I rather dislike fieldwork,” he says, almost bored. James can hear the exhaustion creeping into his voice, no doubt as a result of the lack of sleep or a full meal. 

James moves towards his bag, and pauses on the suit he’d purchased and packed for Q. “Well unless you want to explain to our colleagues upstairs where Ramona’s third drive went, or that I pocketed the drive she was supposed to deliver, I suggest we get a move on.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Bond. It’ll be weeks before the notice at all. I’m hardly an amateur at this,” he retorts. But he sits up and moves towards his own things so Bond counts it as a victory.

Bond unzips the bag resting on the back of the door. “Besides,” James continues, “I never got chance to say thank you.” Q whirls around abruptly at this, gaping when he notices the suit that would in no way fit Bond. 

“A suit?” Q asks, suddenly very still. 

“You give me nice things all the time,” James replies, “thought I could return the favour.” He eyes Q’s current outfit before adding, “Do you even own anything that fits?”

At that Q squawks, indignant nearly knocking his glasses from his face as he reaches out to snatch the suit from James’ reach. “You owe me dinner, Bond.” 

Bond just laughs in response, feeling more at ease than he has in a long time. Q looks up at him expectantly."Counting on it,” James says, turning away to hide a smile when Q replies with a simple “It’s a date then.” And maybe, just maybe, it’s not exhaustion but hope he finds settling in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one kind of got away from me, but I'm happy with the way it turned out


End file.
